


as i sit here with crooked lungs, you hold me close in my ebbing sobs

by tenderwrites



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Heavy Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Paranoia, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12804021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderwrites/pseuds/tenderwrites
Summary: Ghosts and demons constantly lust after Jack's mind, and in the midst of his own emotional snowstorm, he finds help in the unlikeliest of places.





	as i sit here with crooked lungs, you hold me close in my ebbing sobs

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this out one day when I was feeling very despondent and lonely, because writing is one way for me to cope with my issues. I hope this doesn't create a negative impression of me to you, because this is in the past, and I'm getting better with help from family and anti-depressants. The lesson to learn from this is that anyone around you may look alright, but you have to look past their flaws and try and be nice to everyone, even the ones who appear eccentric and unapproachable. I learnt this the hard way because everyone used to assume I was doing fine when in fact, I wasn't doing fine at all. 
> 
> Look out for mentions of self-harm and suicide.

Most, if not more than often, there was a lingering sense of dull paranoia, amongst all the fun and play in the fresh snow scenery. It carried with it the ancient fear of being regarded as an invisible being toying with the spells of winter, dancing around kids trying to catch each other off guard with snowballs.  Especially when previously it had lasted for a solitary 300 years and there was not a single person there to commend him on his hard work for bringing laughter to wandering children. Sure, there were the many magical beings he had chanced upon while on his tirade of fun times, but their marred faces and sharp expressions had more than often served as a warning that he should get out of their sight, lest risking being on their list of hated presences. At the start, he was fine with that, since if they didn’t want to play, Jack could find some other unsuspecting bunch of children to cajole. 

_ At least those cruel things could actually see you. _

Then, in the Easter of ‘68, where he had supposedly ruined everyone’s egg collecting with a sudden and rushed blizzard caused by his own reckless hand, he had chanced upon a livid and intimidating rabbit-looking creature whose eyes appeared as if they wanted to grow hands and give Jack a piece of their minds. But then he remembered eyes didn’t have the power to reproduce body parts, or have a functioning brain even. Floating back into reality, he had no idea of what sin he had committed before a furious boomerang was thrown into his personal space. He’d ducked it deftly, wondering why a harmless bunny would want to have his head chopped off and stabbed onto a stake, when the bunny himself swore at him bitterly and wanted nothing more than to wish for him to be gone.

Those were some harsh times, when Jack had earned himself his very first enemy, a feisty Easter Bunny that muttered obscenities under his breath for the young winter spirit himself and Jack used the rabbit’s anger against him, twirling him around his finger and leaving him so exasperated and confused. Gradually, the snow child had stopped seeking him out in his usual haunts of grassy meadows and radiant fields and kept to himself more out of boredom, using his quality time to doze in foreign ice caves and exploring the scenery of the globe. Through this, he’d discovered the presence of Santa’s huge workshop and heard all about the wonders of it, hence he attempted multiple times to break in and maybe, if maybe, snag a few toys that children spoke so wondrously of. Yetis dominated the place, strangely enough, and Jack often found himself caught snooping outside the workshop by the same watchful yeti every time, brushing and laughing it off by flying away, out of sight of the yeti’s name he learned to be Phil. The man-like creature was somewhat enraged, but not nearly enough to fuel Jack’s want for playfulness.

During the times when he’d felt lost and alone, Jack would walk along on power lines, bouncing on them and watching the golden streaks of the Sandman’s magic soar along the dark sky, granting the children of the world genuine sweet dreams and thoughts of everything good in existence. He would marvel at them for hours on end, sometimes settling on the lines to swing his legs back and forth. It wasn’t enough to freeze the lines but with the despondence he was feeling, Jack sincerely hoped that whatever he did, it brought destruction and icy chaos.

_ That was all he was good for anyway. Ruining Easter, and all of that murderous rampages he had seen dark spirits go on. _

Things had all come along for him at a rapid pace after that, and before he knew it, Jack was destined to ride along with the Guardians in rescue of the holidays he never knew he longed to celebrate with someone else. The lot of them had nearly lost hope, but then someone had the daring, the guts--to  _ believe  _ in his existence. The same child he had sent on a crashing expedition on a out-of-control sled throughout the snowy grounds of winter and almost gave a broken leg to. Nevertheless, the kid’s name was Jamie, and Jack would never erase him from his memories so long as he lived. Forever, it seemed, that he, Jack Frost, would roam this world as the Guardian of Fun. The ruler of fear and irrational enemies was sent back into his decrepit hiding hole and the Guardians and their followers could rest at ease once again; the wonder, hope, memories and fun of many returned to them.

He’d felt pretty proud of himself after the whole series of events had been over and done with, but the one who held the most praise for him was his previous number one prank target and rival in every way possible. It had promptly thrown Jack off guard and being the newly appointed Guardian and protector of children, such pleasantries were a lot getting used to and his face had burned with the fire of multiple suns, and a surprisingly comfortable feeling had dug at his chest, poking at his heart and waking his deepest emotions up. Amidst the congratulatory practices North had organised in the majestic bod of his workshop, he danced around the words screaming deafeningly in his mind and ignored the fluttering he felt in his chest and mingled with the different beings who smiled knowingly at him. They patted him on the back, shared a drink or two with him, but nothing could compare to the welcoming grins Bunny would constantly flash him in his flurry of being worshipped as a hero.

Thereafter, he retreated to the deeper hideouts of North’s home and tried to work his way around his emotions, his reassuring hood over his messy white locks and a deep red tint on his cheeks. Jack aimlessly traced on the freezing glass window with his finger and carved out beautiful caricatures of what he really hungered for. It was like a mirror reflecting his truest wishes and he couldn’t stop casting an icy shadow over his drawings, trying to deny his dumb and pointless affections for someone he could never imagine to hold in his grasp. It was the same when Sandy died, but the feelings of grief and mourning he felt was vastly different from the confusion and nervousness which were pooling at the bottom of his gut.

Jack had stumbled over the many decades trying to get people to see a tiny glimpse of him and possessed so less knowledge about what he was really feeling or even if it was allowed in the mess of his world where he was an immortal, holy being obligated to spread laughter all around.  So, he’d cracked open the lock of the window he was drawing on and slipped out of it with nimble stealthiness, and hitched a ride with his best buddy the North Wind, till he reached the bright white floor of the winter wonderland. Without stopping to think what he was doing, he struck the earth twice and was soon sailing down the rabbit hole into a place he wished he could call home, and took in everything that the Warren had to offer--brilliant sunlight, dainty flowers and majestic trees, but the only comfort he wanted to seek was the warm respite of the grassy fields. His body temperature wailed in agony as it rose significantly, and summer weekends were not his cup of tea or coffee, but Jack made do with everything the mighty Warren threw at him. Chancing upon a wild batch of undyed googies, he’d settled down in the middle of them, a perfect line of view over the rivers of different dyes and neatly arranged yet unorganized rows of daffodils, petunias and flowers whose names he could only hope to guess. Staff forgotten, feet brushing against the soft grass, this was where he felt the most peaceful. Before Bunny had become his friend, Jack had snuck in multiple times to visit the place, slipping in and out like an unwelcome spy and visitor. 

He dipped a finger in the river of red.

It came out crimson and the colour ran down his bony hand, coursing over the weak-looking thing and sagging like a deflated balloon. Jack gritted his molars, despite warnings from Tooth about harming his ‘prim and snow white teeth’, and felt the stalks of grass pinch at his underside. No, he didn’t feel welcome here at all. Nature was a beautiful thing to behold, and was even more of a sight to admire when its owner was buried amongst its fray. Him, another thing altogether. He was the embodiment of destruction, menacing ice and wintry times, and showed no kindness towards the frail trees and plant life. Even the dye that tried to explore his hand would freeze within a minute, kept within its cold and unforgiving prison until the warmth of the sun would beckon for it to be nourished yet again.

He wasn’t welcome here.

He never was.

Jack shook off the frozen dye from his hand and stared down at the toes of his feet, and then there were a dozen pairs of condescending eyes on him. They jeered, mocked and guffawed at him, their perceptive eyeballs reaching deep into his soul and strangling it from head to toe, the heavy breath from his nose suddenly turning quick and hurried and Jack laid in the soothing grass bed trying to calm his heightened nerves and racing heart. He shivered and clutched his threadbare clothing to try and find body heat, but then the winter spirit recalled that he was a Guardian now, and being Jack Frost meant that he was infinitely cold with no end.

Being infinitely cold had its quirks.

Such quirks included being a freezing, foreign presence in a bed of warmth that was the epitome of new spring itself and being found a few hours later by a curious rabbit with prying ears, who stumbled into the Warren looking absolutely dazed and confused.

“Jackie? What are you doing here?”  

Aster’s exclaim of blatant surprise was cut off by the winter being’s groan of pain, as he lay in the grass with his face paler than freshly fallen snow and his legs curled up into his thighs. The first thing the eagle-eyed Guardian of Hope saw was dried-up red dye on the shivering boy’s hand and he crept closer to him, nudging him by the wrist and coaxing him to open his eyes. With this, Jack let out a sharp hiss of pain and his legs kicked outward, forcing him to reveal his glaring blue eyes that stared up into Bunny with an intensity as strong as an enraged bull. The Pooka narrowed his eyebrows, ignoring Jack’s distressed shouts of protest and held the winter child’s wrist gingerly, lifting up a section of his clothing’s sleeve.

What he saw was a myriad of crisscrossed gashes that lined up in a crimson queue and waited, but it was all for nothing and it reminded him of a brutal hand that deftly cut away at the skin for masochistic purposes. Aster’s breath caught in his throat and tried to recall where he had seen such an unforgiving sight before.

Right. It was the time where Pitch had virtually wiped out the entire Pooka population, and he had knelt over in the midst of the ashen fields, the scent of death and despair hanging thickly in the air. The bodies that lay across the flowing grassy plains were like scars that lingered, sinking deep into the clutches of skin that would remain as an imprint on Aster’s mind. He knew what this meant, what it entailed, and what emotions had been coursing through the foolish boy’s mind.

Jack’s face fell, a mask of sorrow edging at the lines of his face and tried not to crumble in front of someone he regarded so highly.

The grass felt so soft to the touch. It reminded him of a hand-woven quilt, one that was created from different fabrics, and yet, it was better than anything money could buy.

Money was worthless now.

He felt a pair of soft and strong arms feel around for his back and they lifted him up, cradling him like a newborn and almost inherently worried that he would fall apart into pieces if not careful. Jack flinched, uncomfortable with his current situation but as trustworthy as the Easter Bunny could get, he tried to settle down and cause as less of a disturbance as he was.

A rickety wooden door was opened and there were wind chimes ringing somewhere, the melodious sound bringing some respite to the thunderstorm raging inside of Jack’s mind. The next surface felt even more welcoming, with grass laid under him and a fond smell of morning dew filling his nose.

It was all so dull.

He must have blacked out for a second, because the next thing he discovered were bandages on his arms and a blanket that reached all the way to his bare toes. The wind chimes were still ringing in the distance and there was a tall glass of water on the table beside him. Had he woken up? He wasn’t sure. Jack felt so lost, as if he didn’t belong in the bag of nerves he called his own body. This looked like the interior of Bunny’s home, with furniture that coincided with the theme of nature and a few empty paint pots stacked on top in various shelves.

Wandering outside, the sunlight bore down on him like a distant memory he longed to remember and he squinted through the light rays, finding his host down by the same red river he had lost himself at. Although he wasn’t painting, his face was etched into a picture of concentration and he was staring straight ahead, dismissing the world around him until he caught a hold of Jack’s presence.

Neither of them said anything, but Aster had his arms wide open, beckoning for Jack to sink into his warm embrace and try and sort through his issues.

“...What’s the matter with you?” 

“I don’t know.” It came out as a whisper rather than a retort, until only the two of them could hear Jack’s cracking voice.

“There has to be something, Jack. What’s been bothering you all this while?” Aster cradled the winter child in his hands, running a hand over the soft spikes of his bleached hair. The Guardian of Fun felt himself closing his eyes and his face was streaked with red patches over the lukewarm skin.

“...Does it even matter to you?” It was the softest voice Aster had heard from Jack in an eternity, the winter spirit usually characterised by his raucous laughter and mischievous grinning. But now, he was a spirit of water, his limbs feeling like detached appendages and the tears, unable to be deterred, ran down his face and neck and soaked his clothing. Aster could only hope to wonder what kind of demons had been haunting the poor boy and arresting him of his freedom, beating him down and forcing him to bow down to them.

“D’ you think I’m a heartless bunny? You can tell me anything.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” Aster braced himself for the worst, but nothing was really worse than his entire population being wiped out, and so he waited apprehensively.

“Have you ever heard of suicide?” This raised some questions in Bunny’s head, but all of them were buzzing at the same time and screamed out one single question.

“...You tried it, didn’t you?” Jack nodded slightly, burying his face into Aster’s furry chest and he almost felt himself crumbling together with the winter child. What dastardly thoughts had he been thinking of? He didn’t know, but if Jack went as far as trying to erase his existence, Aster was sure that living was a personal hell for him.

“What has this world done to you?” Aster winced slightly as the boy in his arms broke apart, pieces shattering with the force of a thousand storms. He could feel himself weeping a tear or two too, trying to soothe the beautiful yet fractured boy who wouldn’t stop tormenting himself day after day.

The only sounds heard in the Warren then were Jack’s distant sobbing and the noise of grass rustling under the breeze. The joyous laughter Aster had heard from the winter spirit’s mouth before all seemed so far away and the notion of fun was a long gone myth, swept to the winds.

“Aster?” The boy whispered.

“What is it?”

“...Don’t ever let go.”

“I promise.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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